


You Can Fly Away, Too (That's On You)

by CocoBadShip



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bill Denbrough Loves Mike Hanlon, Bisexual Bill Denbrough, Bisexual Mike Hanlon, Fix-It, M/M, Mike Hanlon Deserves Nice Things, Mike Hanlon Gets Around, Mike Hanlon Loves Bill Denbrough, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Road Trips, Stanley Uris is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27497527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocoBadShip/pseuds/CocoBadShip
Summary: There’s no more oath, no more destiny they need to fulfill. No more It. It’s all gone now. It’s all underground. And Mike has a right to get away from it all.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's meeeee, becoming obsessed with yet another ship and writing some overly-emotional fic about it!! Shout-out to this most recent Spooky Season for bringing me back to the 2017 and 2019 IT movies.
> 
> Please be gentle with me. I don't know what I'm doing.

Two weeks after it’s all over, right when Stan and Eddie are both being released from their respective hospitals, Mike packs the few possessions he has and decides to go. 

There’s no reason not to; he has the money, having sold the farm long ago for much more than he thought it’d be worth and practically never spent any of the money in the time since. Everything else is either sold in a couple of yard sales or donated. 

All of the years of Mike’s life are in a backpack and two suitcases in the trunk of a hand-me-down station wagon. 

There’s a sense of shame associated with that realization; Mike’s managed to live 40 years and, aside from worn clothes and fading scars, has almost nothing to show for it. But also, there’s a feeling of _finally_ being “free.” As close to “free” as Mike will ever get. 

Mike’s going to chase that feeling. 

…...

Florida’s not a random choice. Not really.

Mike’s wanted to go to Florida since long before he sat in that swing in the Loser’s clubhouse and said it with a loose grin on his face. Mike thinks he’s had Florida in his head since he was really young, when he used to sit at his grandfather’s feet and listen to rambling stories about his grandfather’s brief time in Florida after the Korean War. Or maybe Mike had seen too many movies and TV shows set in Florida, showcasing the nearly-white sand and deep-blue water. 

Florida just looked perfect to Mike when he was a child: serene, pretty, warm, free. It looked so much better than home.

 _Everywhere_ looks better than Mike’s “home,” though. Derry, Maine, with its deep, carnivorous evil that recklessly devours every vulnerable person unfortunate enough to fall into its path, is a low bar. 

Mike’s always wanted to _go,_ if he’s being honest. If he thinks about it, he can remember that feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever he ran from Henry Bowers, or whenever his grandfather shoved an air gun into his hand, or whenever his friends started to leave him, one by one by one. _Go,_ the feeling would say. _Just go._ Run away. Hop on a bus, take the car, you can figure it out later. _Just go._

But he never did. He couldn’t. _Somebody_ had to say and remember the oath. And, after a time, it came down to him. 

But it’s not on Mike anywhere. There’s no more oath, no more destiny they need to fulfill. No more _It._ It’s all gone now. It’s all underground. And Mike has a right to get away from it all. 

So, he’ll go 1,613 miles away and never look back. Not once. 

……

It takes Mike two days to make the trip.

It should probably take more. It’s a 24-hour drive, and most people would stop every six hours at least. But 27 years has made Mike too eager to go, and he ends up driving 12 hours that first day. 

He ends up spending a night in Richmond, Virginia, and he doesn’t notice how tired and stiff he is until he’s in the shower. Mike falls into the bed like a stone, falling fast and heavy and hard. 

He’s lying there, on the edge of sleep, when his phone rings. It’s Bill.

Mike picks up his phone and has to remind himself to not feel nervous. He doesn’t have to feel nervous anymore when any of the other Losers come up. They’re just regular people now. 

Mike still feels nervous, anyway. 

“Hey, Mikey.” Bill’s voice is quiet, like he’s near sleep, too. “Haven’t talked to you in a while. What’s new?”

“A while” is a stretch. Really, it’s only been about three weeks. That’s nothing compared to 27 years. 

But Mike’s understanding; time moves differently for all of them. It disintegrates and falls around them, reforming into odd, incongruent shapes. Days, hours, years, weeks, months. They’re all the same, sometimes. 

Besides, there’s something comforting in those words, “a while,” and in the soft way Bill says them. 

Mike forces himself to sit up. He wraps an arm around his torso, as if that’ll stop the butterflies from flitting around in his stomach. 

“What’s new is that I’m on the road,” Mike says. “I’m moving.” 

“Wait . . .” Mike can hear Bill move around, maybe shifting in his chair. “ _Really_? You’ve left D-Derry?” 

Mike wonders how he should take Bill’s surprise. Should he be offended that it seems so unlikely that he’d get his act together and move on? 

But then again: nearly 30 years, obsessive research, nearly getting them all killed . . . Mike would be shocked, too, if he were on the other side of the line. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m finally leaving Derry.”

“That’s _amazing_ ,” Bill says, and he sounds genuinely excited. “I’m serious, I’m s-so glad you’re finally getting away from that h-h-hell. Florida still your destination?”

“Sure is,” Mike says. “I’m about 11, maybe 12 hours out, so . . .”

“Wait, really? _Only_ 12 hours?” 

Bill sounds so confused Mike can picture the face he’s making. Mike tries not to chuckle aloud. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve already driven 12 hours. I’m spending the night in Richmond so I don’t pass out behind the wheel or anything.”

“You’re in V-Virginia?” Bill asks, saying “Virginia” as if he’s never heard of the term before. 

“Um, yes? Is that weird or . . . ?”

“No, no! Not at all, Mikey!” Mike can hear Bill moving around again. “I’m just r-really happy for you. And everyone else will be, too.”

It’s a little ridiculous how nice those words make Mike feel. 

“Although,” Bill continues, “they might give you Hell for not telling us you’ve left.”

“You think so?” Mike asks. “Because I didn’t think they’d . . .”

Want to know. Or care at all. They had their own lives to get back to, lives that Mike abruptly ripped them from and nearly ended. 

“I _know_ they will,” Bill says, his voice warm. “You deserve happiness, Mike. You really do. And we’re rooting for you.” 

_You deserve happiness._ Mike holds onto those words. He’ll keep them close. 

“Thanks, Bill.”

Bill makes a quiet noise, a soft noise of contentment. 

“Of course, Mikey.” 

……

Mike drives past Orlando.

Orlando was the original plan. Mike never planned to go to Miami. Somehow, Miami feels too _young_ for Mike. Miami feels like a trip he should’ve made when he was in his 20s and had just lost his grandfather. The city doesn’t feel right for Mike. He’s missed his window.

So, he’d settled on Orlando. Everyone wants to go to Orlando at least once, right? Beaches and Disney World, and all that. Places children want to go to escape the boredom of their home lives and find magic and adventure. 

But Mike isn’t a child anymore, and he’s seen his fair share of magic. And even when Mike _was_ a child, magic never seemed too appealing to him. In his mind, magic was the thing that conjured a demonic, tormentous clown that tried to murder him and his friends. Magic was the thing that forced him to relive his parents’ death over and over again. 

Magic was the thing that would take his friends away, plucking them out of Mike’s life one-by-one, erasing him from their memories. His best friends forgot his name, his face. Forgot he ever lived at all. And that was because of _magic._

So, Mike drives right past the exit for Orlando, Florida. There’s nothing for him there. Never has been. 

……

Mike ends up at a Quality Inn in Palm Bay, Florida.

Palm Bay is a little different from Orlando, Mike thinks. It’s less city, more suburban, with nature trails and lakes that stretch for miles and miles and miles. There are a lot of families here, people who want their children to grow up someplace nice. 

It’s evening when Mike arrives. It’s quiet, with hardly any guests in the lobby. Mike’s glad for it. A quiet arrival makes him feel like less of a tourist. His room is small but very clean, and it faintly smells like lemon-scented bathroom cleaner. The space above the library always had a stale, musty scent to it, evidence of all how _old_ everything around Mike was. The walls, the books, the rotting newspapers, the furniture Mike had “found”—it was all decaying, falling apart around him. Mike never had time to fix the place up. He made himself too busy with his research. 

Mike takes a longer shower this time. He closes his eyes and lets hot water sink into his back, shoulders and legs. Mike tries to remind himself that he _made it._ He had a destination, and now he’s made it there. He can relax now, at least a little bit. 

When he’s out of the shower and into looser clothes, his phone starts vibrating so hard it nearly falls off of the bedside table. 

**Richie:** **Sooooo, you finally broke outta that shithole hometown of ours and I gotta hear about it from BILL???? That’s cold man.**

Richie’s text seems to open the floodgates: messages from the other Losers start pouring in. 

**Bev:** **Oh yay!! I’m so happy for you Mike!!**

 **Stan** : **Thank GOD you’re getting outta there.**

**Eddie: What Richie means is that we’re very happy for you and you come see us any time.**

**Ben:** **My doors are open any time, whenever you need.**

Mike smiles at his phone. It’s a bit overwhelming. But it’s nice. 

He’s replying with a bashful “Thank you, guys!” when he notices something in Richie’s texts. Right before he asks Richie about it, his phone buzzes again.

 **Bill:** **Sorry for snitching on you. I was talking to Richie and it just slipped out.**

Mike snorts as he imagines the sheepish look on Bill’s face. Distantly, Mike wonders if this means Bill called them immediately after talking to him, if he was just so surprised and excited he couldn’t _help_ but blurt it out. Mike, again, wonders how he should take this. 

He chooses to feel flattered about it. Ignore the fluttering in his stomach and just feel glad his friends remember him now. 

**Mike: Don’t worry about it Bill lol**

……

After a couple of days, Mike decides to be a proper tourist.

He gets up ridiculously early one morning and decides to make his way to Turkey Creek Sanctuary for a hike. Mike dresses in a loose shirt and a pair of shorts and makes sure to toss a couple of bottles of water and some snacks into his backpack. He has no desire to end up hot and dehydrated in the middle of a giant park he knows next to nothing about. 

It’s still early by the time Mike gets there, but it’s already _hot._ The humidity is almost overwhelming. Mike thinks his inability to acclimate to hot, thick air is just another example of how much of a disservice he did himself by staying in Derry for so damn long. 

But, despite the heat and the stickiness, Mike walks on. 

He walks for much longer than he expected himself to. He slowly walks down the zig-zagging boardwalk, appreciating the shade the large, bowed trees that hang over him provide. Mike walks until the boardwalk takes a dip and leads him to the creek.

Mike stops and stares out at the water. There are people kayaking on the creek; Mike watches them slowly paddling around the creek’s bend, disappearing from his view once they make it to the other side. 

It reminds Mike of a scene from one of Bill’s books. The protagonist and her friends are attacked by a monster while swimming at a hidden lake they’d been banned from. At one point, the creature drags the protagonist into the murky waters, slamming her into the boardwalk while she desperately tries to fight it off. The protagonist bleeds so much the blood begins to cover the entire surface of the lake, but she keeps fighting. In the end, both her and the monster die, their corpses floating towards her horrified friends. 

It was about the sewers. The terror of the sewers haphazardly mixed with the brief joys of swimming in the quarry. Mike remembers feeling so odd when he read it. He remembers thinking he knew for certain what this story was really about, but Bill probably didn’t. Bill probably didn’t realize what he was channeling when he was writing: long-lost, half-formed memories sneaking out from his brain, sliding down his arm and crawling onto the page. 

Mike pulls out his phone and takes a couple of pictures. He decides to text them to Bill, sending them with, “Made me think of a story you wrote.” Mike doesn’t consider how weird of a move this might be until _after_ he’s sent the message. 

Mike doesn’t have enough time to freak out about it, thankfully; Bill texts back almost instantly. 

**Bill: Oh God you actually read The Waters??? I’m so sorry that one was really fucking weird and dark.**

**Bill: Please don’t tell me you’ve actually read my messed up shit.**

Mike _has_ read Bill’s work. He’s read every single thing that has Bill Denbrough’s name on it, even if it was just a foreword. Mike had always told himself he was looking for a sign that Bill remembered Derry, that he remembered Pennywise. But, in all honesty, Mike had always been looking for a sign that Bill remembered his childhood, his friends. _Him._

It was a silly thing for Mike to do. A useless endeavor. But Mike did it, anyway. 

**Mike: Sorry, Bill, but I’m probably one of your biggest fans lol.**

Bill takes a few minutes to reply to that one. He takes just long enough to make Mike wonder if he’s scared him off. 

**Bill: Oh no. Please don’t think differently of me, I promise my new stuff will be better**

**Bill: I think I owe you so much more than I can give**

Mike reads the message and shakes his head. He can’t think of anyone who owes him less than Bill Denbrough.

Well, Stan. Yes. Stan owes him nothing at all, not after what Mike pushed him to do. 

Late afternoon is starting to creep up on Mike. He slides his phone back into his pocket and decides to head back to his hotel. He briefly wonders if Bill will be mad at him for not texting him back. 

……

Mike meets a man about three weeks later.

Jackson lives a couple doors down from the room Mike is renting. He’s a thick, stocky man, with deep dark skin, curly salt-n-pepper hair, dimples, and a smooth golden ring on his left-hand ring finger. 

Jackson offers to show Mike around, and Mike accepts. They spend a day wandering around the neighborhood, the grocery store, on the beach, and then they end up stumbling through Mike’s place, pawing at each other’s belts and zippers.

Legally separated, Jackson insists to Mike. In the middle of a particularly acrimonious divorce from his wife of 21 years.

“I swear I’m not a bad man,” Jackson says with a nervous, almost hysterical laugh. 

“It’s okay,” Mike says. “It doesn’t matter.” And he lets Jackson pull him closer.

Later, Mike wonders if he’s supposed to feel bad that it really doesn’t matter. 

But this isn’t exactly brand-new territory for Mike. No woman in her right mind would go near him in Derry; no one’s going to risk her safety messing with the tall, broad weirdo who walks around muttering to himself about murders and spells and clowns, even if he is handsome. 

But men? The closeted ones who so rarely got what they really desired? They were much less discriminatory. The good-looking town psycho will do just fine. 

Mike thinks decent people probably don’t sleep with married men this much. 

Jackson’s nicer than the men Mike was with in Derry. He touches Mike’s softly and grins and moans and curses as Mike pushes inside of him. Mike decides he could be doing much worse right now. 

When they’re done, Jackson falls asleep with one of his big arms slung across Mike’s stomach. The heat from his body is almost too much. 

Mike wonders if any of the others have done anything like this. He can’t imagine it from any of them, honestly. Certainly not Bill, with his tabloid-famous marriage to Audra. PR-nightmare.

Mike wonders what they’d say about him if they found out he’s made this a part of his new life. 

……

Bill texts Mike in the middle of the night, when he and Jackson are both still sleeping. 

Mike gropes around the dark until his hand lands on his phone. He drags it closer and sees a picture of a laptop with a full Word document displayed on the screen.

**Bill: I promise this one won't be weird as shit.**

Mike bites the inside of his cheek.

**Mike: None of them ever are lol.**

Bill texts back before Mike has a chance to put his phone down.

**Bill: You’re only saying that because you’re just as weird as I am, probably.**

Well, Mike can’t really deny that, can he?

Mike feels Jackson roll over next to him. When he looks over, Jackson is watching him with a sleepy, but expectant look.

“Boyfriend?” he asks. 

Mike blinks. 

“No, no. Just—just a friend.”

Jackson narrows his eyes at Mike. Then he scoffs loudly.

“Yeah. Sure.”

…...

Mike has two more weeks in Florida and two more trysts with Jackson before he realizes has to go. 

It’s that _feeling_ again, the one that took residence in the pit of Mike’s stomach when he was 13, then 14, 15, 16, 17. _Go._ Figure it out later. Just _go._

Mike hadn’t considered another place. His mind had been set on Florida, and that was it. Mike has no idea where he’s going or why he’s going there. 

But he can’t ignore the feeling. He can’t work around it or will it anyway.

So, he says a sad goodbye to Jackson. And he goes. 

……

Mike texts Bill when he stops for lunch in Tallahassee. He sends him a picture of his bags and the road stretched out ahead of him.

**Mike: On the road again……**

Bill texts back just as Mike’s throwing away his trash and heading to his car. 

**Bill: Where to now?**

Mike shrugs, then feels goofy for doing so.

**Mike: Not sure yet. Can’t make up my mind.**

Bill texts back almost instantly this time.

**Bill: Just go with your gut. And let me know where you land.**

Mike slides his phone in his pocket and gets back into his car. Then he drives with no destination in mind.


	2. Chapter 2

New Orleans is hot, too. 

But it’s heat is different. It’s _heavier_ , laying on Mike like a heated weighted blanket. He’ll have to strip down in New Orleans; he can’t imagine himself wearing little more than tank tops and shorts. 

New Orleans is also crowded when Mike arrives, but he expected that. He does himself no favors when he picks a hotel in the middle of the French Quarter. Mike’s a tourist here, for sure. He’ll blend in with every other transient who wants to get drunk and stumble down Bourbon Street for a night or two. 

Bill’s never been to New Orleans, apparently. 

He calls Mike almost as soon as Mike steps into his hotel room. If Mike didn’t know better, he’d think Bill somehow knew he’d arrived. 

“I’ve always wanted to go to New Orleans,” Bill says, “but I guess I’ve never made time.” 

Mike peers out of the window, watching the bright lights of the streets below him. 

“You should,” Mike says. “I think you and Audra would really like it.”

Bill’s quiet for a moment. He hums. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, his voice dimmer. “She probably would like it.” 

Mike frowns at the change in Bill’s voice. 

“You . . . you okay, Bill?”

Bill perks up. “Yeah, yeah! Just . . . you know.”

Mike doesn’t, but it doesn’t feel like Bill is going to explain. 

“You have fun, Mike,” Bill says. “And keep me updated, okay?”

“Okay,” Mike says. “I will.”

…... 

Mike spends the first couple of days wandering around the French Quarter, trying to make it seem as though he knows what he’s doing. 

He has a few drinks at Lafitte’s. He walks through Jackson Square just to look at the St. Louis Cathedral. Mike takes pictures and sends Ben the ones he knows Ben will like the most. Ben texts back a bunch of exclamation points and comments about architecture that Mike doesn’t fully understand. It makes Mike feel good, though.

On the fourth or maybe the fifth day, Mike takes a street car to Crescent Park just to sit and look at the Mississippi. Mike probably spends hours in that spot, watching the flow of the busy waters. 

It’s soothing, to be still and watch the water run. It’s the closest Mike’s felt to “calm” in a while. 

……

Mike meets a woman at Faulkner House Books. 

He’d read about it in a brochure he took from his hotel. Mike told himself he wasn’t going there for a specific reason; he wasn’t looking for anything. It’s a tourist attraction that just happens to be a bookstore. But Mike knows himself better than that. 

He’s not surprised when he ends up looking at horror novels. He’s even less surprised when he finds himself scanning for last names starting with “D.”

Mike finds what he allegedly wasn’t looking for: _Remorse_ by Bill Denbrough. The one where the protagonist is haunted by the ghost of his best friend after they’re attacked by a serial killer. The protagonist narrowly escapes, leaves his best friend to be finished off and spends the rest of his life paying for that decision. The haunting only ends when the protagonist runs out into the middle of traffic one night. 

There’s a twist, of course, because there always is when it comes to Bill’s stuff. The “ghost” isn’t really there. He’s just a manifestation of the protagonist’s own guilty conscience. The protagonist pushes himself over the edge. 

Of all of Bill’s books, this is the one that unsettled Mike the most. 

Mike takes a picture of it and sends it to Bill.

**Mike: I gotta say, this one WAS a bit out there, Bill.**

“Have you read that one?”

The question startles Mike out of his reverie. He turns to find a woman standing beside him. Mike first notices her bright red lipstick and how it stands out against her dark-brown skin. Then he notices the gray streak in her otherwise long, black ponytail. Then he notices she’s smiling at him. 

“That one messed with my head,” she continues in a thick, unmistakably New Orleans accent. “Kept me up for hours after reading it.”

Mike looks at the book’s cover and chuckles. It’d kept him up, too, but for very, very different reasons.

“Yeah, it’s a doozy,” Mike says. He remembers to look up at her again and stick his hand out, like a normal man might. “I’m Mike.”

She shakes his hand with a tight grip. Her skin is hot against Mike’s.

“Jessie.”

…..

Jessie takes Mike to Willie Mae’s for real food.

“None of that trash you probably been eating on the road,” she says. 

Mike doesn’t argue for a second; he eats his chicken, candied yams and macaroni gratefully. 

Jessie tells Mike she was born and raised here. Went to nursing school in Memphis before being a travelling nurse for a few years. Then she got pregnant and came back home and has been a nurse here ever since. 

Mike tells Jessie he was born in Maine and has been on his own for a long time. He tells her he’s a librarian, that he decided to take a trip for a while. 

“So, of course you come to a bookstore,” she teases him.

Mike just laughs. She’s got a point. 

Everyone in the restaurant knows Jessie, happily greeting her as they move about. Jessie beams and has a bunch of tiny conversations, but Mike never feels like she’s ignoring him. 

“My son and I come here all the time,” she tells Mike. “Well, we don’t do it too much now that he’s in school. He’s a freshman at Xavier and thinks he’s _grown_ , Lord.”

Mike thinks it must be nice to be a regular somewhere, to be well-known _and_ well-liked. 

“He’ll come back around,” Mike says. “Kids always do.”

Jessie pouts. “Yeah, he better.” Then she laughs loudly. 

Mike likes sitting with her.

When they’re done eating, Mike glances down at his phone. 

“You got somewhere to be?” Jessie asks.

Bill hasn’t texted him back.

“No, no,” Mike says. “Nowhere at all.”

……

Jessie laughs a lot during sex. 

She giggles as she rides Mike, giggles even more when he sits up to wrap his arms around her and holds her as she moves. She throws her head back and laughs as Mike kisses her neck. Jessie laughs so much it makes Mike laugh. He even laughs when she digs her nails into his shoulders as she cums with a loud moan. 

When they’re done, she lies next to him and grins like the Cheshire Cat. 

“I hate to be all ‘I’m not that kind of girl,’” Jessie says, “but I gotta say I don't usually take up with random fine men I meet in the tourist traps.” 

Mike realizes he cannot say the same, and the thought makes him laugh. 

“So, I should feel special?” Mike murmurs. 

Jessie winks at him. “ _Very_ special, Mr. Hanlon.” She stretches and sighs. “I appreciate how non-judgemental you seem.”

“How can I judge you if I’m lying right next to you?” Mike asks. He knows it’s a naive question, but he can’t help but say it. 

Sure enough, Jessie chuckles and rubs Mike’s beard. 

“You’re a sweetheart.” 

They lie in silence for a while. It’s comfortable. Mike thinks it should be awkward, but it’s comfortable.

“How much longer are you in New Orleans?” Jessie asks eventually, her voice heavier now. 

Mike answers without thinking. “A couple of days.” 

He knows it’s true. He could stay in New Orleans for much longer. Mike thinks he _wants_ to stay longer. But he can’t. He never can. But maybe he can hold on to this moment until then.

“When do you have to be back at work?” Mike asks. 

Jessie hums happily, smiles even with her eyes closed. 

“A couple days.”

……

Mike and Jessie spend Mike’s last night in New Orleans by the Mississippi, talking about everything and nothing. They take pictures together, and it makes Mike feel so normal it’s actually a little painful. 

She kisses him goodbye outside of his hotel.

“It was nice to meet you, Mike Hanlon.”

Mike kisses her back and hugs her tight. Then he goes inside and gets ready to go. 

……

Mike texts Bill, asks how he’s doing, what’s been up. Mike stops himself from asking if he’s okay, if he’s gotten Mike’s other texts. If Mike’s done something wrong.

Bill doesn’t answer. 

…..

Eddie’s leaving Myra and moving to Los Angeles. 

With Richie.

It’s the least surprising news Mike’s ever heard. 

It’s less surprising than Bev getting a quick divorce from her piece-of-shit husband and Ben whisking her away. 

They all saw the way Richie and Eddie looked at each other at the Jade Orient, and the way Richie fell apart when It stabbed Eddie. They watched Richie sit by Eddie’s side for days on end, refusing to leave and barely eating until Eddie woke up. 

Hell, Mike even remembers watching Eddie and Richie stare at each other with hearts in their eyes when they were kids. It’s kind of funny that it took 27 years and that fucking clown for them to get _here._

Richie calls Mike while Mike is spending a night in Memphis. 

“Carpe diem, and all that shit,” Richie says. “Might as well get on with it in case that damn clown isn’t actually dead this time around.” 

Richie laughs, but he sounds _terrified._ Mike can even hear him pacing around the room as he talks. Mike wishes he was there to hug Richie. 

“I’m happy for you guys,” Mike says. “I’m _really_ happy for you guys.” 

“Thanks, Mike,” Richie says gratefully. Then he sniffles and laughs. “I’ve been laughing and crying all day like a fucking sap . . .”

“I think you’re allowed to be a little emotional about this, Rich,” Mike says. “You’re taking a big step with the person you love. It’s a lot to take in for both of you.” 

“God, you sound just like _Bill,_ ” Richie scoffs, his voice shaking. “He told Eddie almost the exact same thing earlier today.”

Mike hears Bill’s name and forgets how to speak. He hasn’t heard from Bill in weeks, not since that first night in New Orleans, but Bill just talked to Eddie and Richie this morning. Has he been talking to everyone else, too? Is it just Mike Bill’s not interested in talking to, anymore? 

Has Bill forgotten about him again?

“I’m getting tired of you guys and your wisdom,” Richie continues, bringing Mike back to reality. “Stop being so damn smart and caring and all that shit.” 

“Sorry that I want what’s best for my friends,” Mike says. “I’ll be sure to give you bad advice from now on.”

“Good!” Richie says. He’s trying for harsh, but failing spectacularly. “That’s all I ever wanted.” 

……

Bill calls Mike a few hours after he’s gotten to St. Louis. 

Mike is lying on his hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, when his phone rings. His stomach drops when he sees Bill’s name. 

“I haven’t talked to you in a w-while,” Bill says. “How are you?”

“A while” is almost four weeks this time.

“Good,” Mike answers. “I’m, uh, I’m in St. Louis.”

“R-really? When’d you g-get there?”

Bill’s nervous, Mike realizes. He can picture him rubbing the back of his neck, his jaw tight and brows furrowed. 

“A few hours ago. It wasn’t that long of a drive from Memphis, so . . .”

“Shit, Mike, when were you in Memphis?” 

“Today—I mean, _yesterday_ ,” Mike says. “Yeah, yesterday, I think.”

The days are starting to run together. Maybe long hours on the road are starting to mess with Mike. Funny thing is, Mike only drove six or seven hours away from New Orleans before he needed to stop for the night. And the five-hour drive from Memphis to St. Louis has wiped him out. It’s getting harder to drive for a long time. 

“You’re really m-moving, huh?” Bill comments. 

Mike shrugs, then feels silly for doing so.

“Yeah, I guess,” Mike says. But he can’t ignore the tone of Bill’s voice and how long it’s been, so he asks, “Bill, are you okay?” 

Bill laughs, more than a little manic-sounding. 

“I . . . I should’ve said something earlier,” Bill says. “But, um. Audra and I. We’re getting divorced.”

Mike sits up, pressing his back against the headboard. 

“I’m sorry, Bill,” Mike says. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Bill laughs again. His voice shakes. 

“I-I—I don’t even _know,_ ” Bill says. “I mean, Eddie and Bev both got divorced, and they’re _happy._ Starting brand new lives and everything, but I’m . . . I’m not even—”

“You guys have different situations,” Mike says firmly. “Eddie and Myra weren’t supposed to be together, and Bev . . . it’s a blessing for her to be rid of that asshole she was married to. You and Audra were happy together, weren’t you?” 

“Happy,” Bill echoes. Then he scoffs. “I _thought_. . . if you’d asked me that before D-Derry, I probably would’ve said ‘yes.’ Now, I don’t even know. I don’t even know h-how D-Derry did this, but . . .”

Shame fills Mike; so this is _his_ fault, then. He called Bill back to Derry and now Bill’s getting a divorce he doesn’t want. 

“I’m sorry, Bill,” Mike says again, contrite this time.

“No, this is _not_ your fault, Mike,” Bill says, suddenly lively and stern. “You didn’t cause this by c-c-calling me back. It just . . . I don’t think Audra really knew who I _was_ , y-you know? Because _I_ didn’t even kn-know.” 

Mike thinks of Bill’s books. All of those half-formed, venomous memories lacing the supposedly fictional worlds Bill created. Mike can see Bill so clearly in all of his stories. He can see all of the trauma, the death, the confusion, the guilt, the _fear._

Mike can see it because he _remembers_ Bill; he remembers every single thing Bill ever told him, from the day Bev and the other Losers rescued him from Henry Bowers to the night before Bill moved away from Derry, when they sat huddled close and tried not to cry. Mike thinks he’s committed every moment he had with Bill to memory, even if he didn’t realize he was doing it. 

But Bill didn’t remember himself. He’d begun forgetting himself the second the Denbroughs drove out of Maine. 

“I know what you mean,” Mike says with a sigh. “But it doesn’t make it hurt less. It’s okay if you’re hurt, Bill.”

“You _would_ say that,” Bill says, but he sounds a little less miserable now. 

“Because it’s true,” Mike insists. “You have every right to feel bad about your _marriage ending_ , Bill. Even if you guys weren’t really supposed to be together.”

Bill goes quiet; Mike can hear soft sniffling. Mike wishes they were together. He wishes they were next to each other, so he can pull Bill close, lend his actual shoulder to cry on. Mike wants to wipe Bill’s tears, as corny and cliché as that sounds. 

Bill breaks the silence. 

“Eddie and Bev . . .” he says in a thick voice. “They found who they’re supposed to be with. Eddie and Richie, Bev and Ben. They were meant to be. And Stan found Patty, too.”

Mike thinks of his friends. They were all so obviously in love. They always had been. 

“Yeah, they did,” Mike says quietly. 

“They’re going to be with the person they were meant for,” Bill says. Then, he laughs bitterly. “But I won’t be.”

“You don’t know that,” Mike says, and he sounds so desperate it makes him feel a little pathetic. But he keeps pushing. “You don’t know that, Bill.”

“ _Yes_ , I do,” Bill says stubbornly. Then, in a suddenly more quiet voice: “Are you happy, Mike?” 

Mike blinks. He’s so shocked at the tonal whiplash it takes him a moment to consider what Bill’s asked him. 

_Are you happy?_

“I’m . . .” 

Mike thinks of the feeling in his gut, the feeling that still lingers and pulls him towards the road, towards some destination he still can’t see. He thinks of the blue of Florida’s sky, the smell of the ocean and the feeling of Jackson’s arm on his stomach. He thinks of the warmth of New Orleans. He thinks of Jessie and her big, bright smile. 

“I’m a lot happier than I’ve been in a long time. But . . .” 

All these good things, but that _feeling_ persists. 

“. . . But I think there’s something missing,” Mike admits. “I don’t know what it is, but . . . there’s something.” 

Bill sighs. “Yeah. I figured you’d say something like that.”

They’re quiet again. Mike listens to Bill’s shaky breathing, then his own uneven breaths. 

Mike’s heart hurts; there’s an ache right in its middle. And Mike can’t tell if the pain from feeling every bit of Bill’s hurt or from the realization that after all this time, there’s _still_ a piece missing from Mike. That even now, more than 1,400 miles away from Derry and all of its cutting memories and nightmares, Mike still can’t _really_ be happy.

“You . . .” Bill says. “. . . you shouldn’t have had to s-s-stay.”

Mike’s head jerks back, and he can feel his face falling into a confused look. Bill’s words might as well be a foreign language. 

“What?” 

“I said you shouldn’t have had to _stay_. You should’ve—you should’ve been able to leave. You shouldn’t have h-h-had to be the one to stay. A-alone like t-that.”

“ _Somebody_ had to stay, Bill,” Mike says, using the same voice he’s used on himself more than once. “Somebody had to stay to keep watch.”

And one day, when Mike looked up and realized everyone else had moved on, he realized it would be him. 

Mike often thinks it was _always_ going to be him. Maybe he was destined to be the one who never turned away from that damn clown. Maybe he was always going to be the one to continue to believe.

“But that shouldn’t have been _you!_ ” Bill cries. “You didn’t make us all swear an oath! _I did!_ ” 

Mike feels himself swing his legs over the side of the bed and plant both feet firmly on the floor, digging his fingers into the bed's thick comforter. 

“Bill . . .”

“No!” Bill interrupts. “You kn-know! You remember! I cut you guys’ hands! I made you take that oath! _I did it!_ ” 

Mike curls free hand into a fist. The scar on his palm faded long ago; it was gone less than a year after Bill gave it to him. But, sometimes, Mike still feels the sting. 

“You _did_ make us swear an oath,” Mike says. “And I looked you right in the eye and took that oath. And then your parents made you move away, Bill. My family stayed. I didn’t _like_ staying, but I stayed. I don’t regret that.”

“ _I_ _do!_ ” Bill says. “I r-r-regret leaving you behind. Making you stay. And n-never coming back. I never came back for you, Mikey! You should h-h- _hate_ me.”

Mike feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. 

“I . . . I could never _hate_ you, Bill.” 

“But you should.” Bill’s stubborn as he’s always been. “You sh-sh- _should._ ”

And before Mike can argue—before he can explain that Bill is wrong in at least a thousand different ways, that on the gambit of emotions Mike feels towards Bill _hate_ isn’t even one he’s ever considered—Bill speaks again. 

“Just,” Bill says, “Mike—please make sure you find who you’re supposed to be with. Okay? Find them, and be with them.”

Bill hangs up. 

Mike stares at his phone, then dials Bill’s number again. 

Bill doesn’t answer. 

…...

Mike goes sightseeing in St. Louis just so he doesn’t spend all day thinking. 

He goes to visit the Arch like a good tourist would, snapping pictures of the impressive structure. He considers actually going up, but the thought of being that high off of the ground makes him dizzy. 

Mike walks through the park and tries to think of the trees and the water and the other tourists and everything else other than Bill. He walks through Citygarden to look at the sculptures and water fountains, and it still takes everything in his power to think of anything other than the way Bill’s voice shook last night, how desperate and hurt he sounded when said Mike should hate him. 

Mike is so busy trying to distract himself from the constant replays of last night he doesn’t notice the man that’s standing behind him. Mike turns around and nearly crashes right into a tall, slender man with large glasses. 

“Oh, sorry!” the man chirps, his face sunny despite Mike nearly knocking him over. “Didn’t mean to get in your space like this.”

Mike blinks at the man, finds himself looking at the way his eyes crinkle around the edges, at the way his tan face reddens, at the gray streak of curly hair that falls into his face. 

“It’s my fault,” Mike manages. “I should’ve been paying more attention. Sorry about that.”

The man giggles like Mike just said something funny. 

“Nothing to apologize for. I’m, um, I’m Davis.” And he sticks his hand out to shake Mike’s hand.

And Mike does shake his hand and introduces himself. Because maybe meeting this happy man can help him out a little. 

Mike and Davis walk and talk. Mike tells Davis he’s a librarian on a road trip, and he’s never been to St. Louis. Davis tells Mike he’s an artist, and he’s come back to St. Louis after having moved away for years. Davis talks about St. Louis with a passion that only a native could have, and Mike lets himself listen to the excitement in his voice. 

Davis blinks and giggles at whatever Mike says, and Mike eventually realizes this man is flirting with him. And it takes Mike another moment to realize he’s attracted to Davis, too. 

Davis asks Mike if he’s been to Union Station yet, and Mike shakes his head.

“You should come by tonight,” Davis suggests. “I think you’d like it.”

Mike smiles and says okay. He’d love to check it out.

……

Mike and Davis have dinner, and it’s only at the end—after a couple of hours of smiling at the way Davis stumbles over his words and gesticulates and seems to laugh at nothing—that Mike realizes Davis reminds him of Bill. 

Oh. _Oh._

Damn it.

…...

Davis kisses Mike later in the night, and Mike feels ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” Mike says, “but I think I’m using you right now.”

Davis blinks at Mike, then smiles coyly. 

“Well, we’ll just use each other tonight, then. Is that okay?”

Mike bites his tongue and nods.


	3. Chapter 3

Mike’s ringing phone wakes him up the next morning. It’s Beverly. 

“Hey, Mike.” Bev sounds light and mellow. Happy. “How’ve you been? How’s your trip been?”

Mike falters. He doesn’t have the time or energy to tell Bev everything that’s happened over the past day. 

“I’m good. The trip’s been . . . interesting. And you?”

“I’m good.” A second of silence passes, then she says, “Hey, listen. Have you talked to Bill?”

“Um . . .” 

_You should hate me._

“Yeah,” Mike says. “I’ve talked to Bill.”

“Did he mention what’s going on with Audra to you?” Bev asks carefully. 

Mike flinches at the entirely too fresh memory. 

“Yeah, he did. Did he not mention it to you guys?”

Bev sighs. “Not until _after_ we saw the headlines. And even then, he wouldn’t tell me and Ben all that much.”

_They found who they’re supposed to be with._

“That’s not surprising,” Mike says. “This is pretty hard on him.”

“It is,” Bev says, “which is why Eddie and Richie are now planning a ‘house-warming’ that is actually a secret ‘try to cheer Bill up’ party.” 

“Oh, really?” Mike asks. Eddie and Richie trying to do _anything_ with any secrecy or subtlety seems impossible. 

“Yep. We’re all being summoned to LA.”

Mike snorts at the word “summoned” with grim amusement. Then he realizes what exactly Bev’s just said. 

“Wait, I’m included in that ‘we’re all’?” 

“Of _course_ you are, Mike,” Bev says, her voice warm. “We can’t do this without you.”

“Oh.”

Mike wonders when he’ll stop being surprised that he has friends who might want him around sometimes. 

“Right,” Bev says. “So, I’m going to need you to hop on a flight to LA as soon as you can, please. I honestly think seeing you will help Bill most of all.” 

“I think you have too much faith in me, Bev,” Mike says. Then, before Bev can argue with him, he says, “But I’ll be there.”

“See you soon, Mike,” Bev says. Mike can hear that she’s smiling.

Mike feels a spike of anxiety so strong it makes him nauseated. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you soon, Bev.”

…...

He’s going to LA to see his friends. 

Mike repeats that to himself as he checks out of his hotel and drives to the airport. He says it like a mantra, as if it’ll stop his heart from pounding out of his chest. 

He’s going to LA to see his friends. He’s going to LA because his friends asked him to come. He’s going to LA to see his friends.

_And Bill._

Mike’s going to LA to see his friends because Bill’s getting divorced, and they want to cheer him up. Mike’s going to LA to see one of his oldest friends, who he’s just now realized he’s attracted to, just a couple of days after having an intense conversation with him in the dead of night. 

Mike’s fucked. 

……

A five-hour flight is short compared to 12-13 hour drives.

The flight from St. Louis to LA is way more comfortable than driving across the country in a rickety station wagon. The problem is, it still gives Mike too much time to think about Bill. 

And as Mike sinks into his seat and stares out of the airplane window, he thinks about a lot more than that phone call. He thinks about every phone call and text, every time he heard Bill’s laugh or scoff. He thinks about seeing Mike at the Jade Orient for the first time in years and years and feeling his head spin. He thinks about devouring every single word Bill had ever written, letting the memories play out in front of his eyes as he took in those words. He thinks about how desperate he always was for some word— _any_ word—about Bill. 

He thinks about holding Bill underneath that house on Neibolt, their hands gripping each other’s arms tight, their foreheads pressed together. 

He thinks of Big Bill Denbrough, cutting his hand, looking him in his eyes with a determined stare. Mike’d flinched, but he hadn’t looked away. Mike’s never wanted to look away from Bill. 

Bill never stopped being _big_ in Mike’s eyes. 

So, Mike’s not just _attracted to_ Bill. This is a _lot_ more than that. And it always has been.

Mike is not prepared to see Bill; he’s actually less ready now than he was before he boarded the plane. But he’s got nowhere left to run. 

……

LA is hot, but not like Florida or New Orleans are. 

Mike lets the window down as he rides in the backseat of a Lyft and stares at the palm trees passing him by. The hot air slips through the opening and smacks Mike in the face. LA’s heat is clingy, grabbing hold of every available inch of Mike’s skin. It almost makes Mike miss the thick air that laid on him in New Orleans. 

It’s kind of fitting, Mike thinks, that LA is already different than everywhere else he’s been. 

As Mike’s Lyft brings him closer to his destination, Mike notices something: that feeling that’s been in the pit of his stomach, the one that’s been pulling him towards all these different destinations, is gone. There’s nothing telling him he needs to _go_ anymore. 

Mike feels calm. Even under the anxiety and anticipation he’s feeling now, there’s a profound sense of calm in his core. A strong sense of peace. 

Mike snorts to himself and rolls eyes. _Okay_ , Universe. He gets it. Real subtle. 

……

Richie and Eddie have an obscene house. 

The outside is 13,000 square feet of dark brick, steel and glass so meticulously cleaned sunlight bounces off of it and right back into Mike’s eyes. Mike can see a giant pool and patio behind the house, protected by a tall, hedge-covered fence. 

Mike may not have ever been to California before, but he’s fully aware of how expensive the housing market is. So, for Richie and Eddie to essentially have a mini-mansion in the Hills must cost an arm and a leg. 

Sometimes Mike forgets his friends are _rich_ now. It almost feels like some twisted compensation from the Universe. A reward of wealth for surviving the terror that was the clown. 

On his especially morbid days—when he’d be losing hope in his mission to keep watch—Mike used to wonder how he would’ve fared had he actually left Derry; what career would he have? Would he be wildly rich like the rest of his friends? 

Now, Mike can’t help but think it doesn’t really matter who he would’ve become had he left Derry. It would’ve all changed, anyway. None of them are the same as they were before they faced the clown again. Mike would’ve still become the person he is at this very second. It just would’ve taken a little longer. 

Mike rings the doorbell. Not a second later, the door swings open and Eddie beams at him.

“ _Mike!_ ” Eddie cheers, and he pulls Mike into a crushing hug. 

Mike laughs so hard he shakes and hugs back just as tightly.

……

Richie and Eddie’s home is full of light. 

You’d never be able to tell from its dark exterior, but sunlight pours into the house, flowing in from large windows and skylights in the ceiling. The furniture is a hodgepodge of dark-brown leather sofas and armchairs, mahogany tables, and an explosion of colorful paintings and posters splattered all over the walls. Even the kitchen is full of colors and odd trinkets, all surrounding the rows of food and drinks that line the kitchen’s island. 

It looks exactly like a place Richie and Eddie would live in.

“Hey, guys!” Eddie calls as Mike follows him inside. “Look who I found outside!”

Mike looks around Eddie to see Stan and Ben grinning at him. 

“ _Mike_!” 

And they both pull them into fierce hugs. They’re all clingy; they all hold on to each other like they’re not sure they’ll get the opportunity to do it again. Mike will never complain about it.

When they finally do detangle from one another, Mike looks around and asks, “Hey, where’re Bev and Rich?” 

“They were dispatched to get Bill,” Stan says. “Eddie says he only lives a couple streets over.”

“Yeah, he does,” Eddie adds, “and he never leaves his house anymore.” 

“Oh,” Mike says. “Huh.” 

Mike tries to picture Bill living in his own ridiculously high-dollar house in the Hills. It doesn’t fit. 

The locking himself in, never stepping a foot out of the door bit? That fits perfectly. 

“Wait,” Mike says. “Was it really a good idea to send _Bev and Richie_ to get Bill?”

Ben and Eddie chuckle and Stan scoffs, rolling his big brown eyes. 

“That’s what _I_ said,” Stan says. “But I guess Bev will either charm him out or Richie will annoy him out.”

“And it’ll almost definitely be the second one,” Ben comments.

“Either way works for me!” Eddie says. Eddie gestures towards the kitchen. “Now, you guys go and start drinking or something.”

They laugh, but do as they’re told, drifting towards the beer enticingly displayed in the kitchen. Mike grabs a bottle and listens as Ben starts rambling about the structure of the house, wondering aloud about how it was built and with what specific materials. 

Stan leans into Mike and gives him a look that lets Mike know he has no idea what Ben is talking about. Mike tries not to laugh and ends up snorting loudly. 

“Sorry!” he says, his face burning as Ben cuts his eyes at them. “Sorry!”

And while Ben is rolling his eyes and telling them how useless they are, the front door opens. 

“Hey, Losers!” Richie yells. “We got him!”

They all turn and cheer as Bev pulls Bill into the room. 

Bill blinks owlishly. Then he looks directly at Mike and smiles. 

Mike’s stomach drops. 

……

Their reunion is pure chaos. Because of course it is. 

The Losers get good and drunk. There’s food and alcohol and crude jokes and loud laughter. They’re all scattered around the living room, draped over the furniture like lazy, messy house cats. 

The living room is going to be a catastrophe after this. Mike remembers a time where that would’ve driven Eddie up the wall, but Eddie doesn’t seem to care tonight. He’s all smiles as Richie all but pulls into his lap.

They’re so in love. Mike almost wants to hate them for it. 

At some point, Mike ends up on the couch, squished between Stan and Ben, sitting directly across from Bill. Bill seems normal tonight; he seems _good_ tonight, actually. He’s laughing and smiling and rolling his eyes at Richie and Ben.

Mike finds himself watching Bill’s eyes, watching the way they light up, the way the skin around them crinkles when he laughs. His eyes fall on Mike every so often, but they don’t change, don’t harden or dim. 

It’s a beautiful sight, Bill’s eyes. Mike tries not to stare.

“Hey, Mike,” Ben says, turning his head towards Mike. He’s so close his chin nudges Mike’s shoulder. “Do you still have those pictures from New Orleans? You’d sent me some but I kinda accidentally erased them.”

“I keep telling you to get rid of that phone-cleaning app or whatever,” Bev chides, the alcohol making her words go wobbly. 

Mike laughs, because his friends are drunk and goofy.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Just lemme—”

Mike manages to dig his phone out of his pocket and start scrolling. Ben and Stan both lean in even closer, because what is personal space at this point.

Mike’s scrolling through his pictures, trying to remember how far back the cathedral pictures are, when Jessie’s smile pops up on the screen. Mike’s fingers freeze. 

“Oh, who is _that_?” Ben asks, much, much louder than necessary.

Mike can feel the intense, collective gaze of the rest of his friends.

“Who’s _who_?” Richie asks suggestively.

And before Mike knows it, Bev is leaning over Ben’s lap and peering down into his phone. Mike’s nose somehow ends up in her hair as she squeals.

“She’s really pretty, Mike!” Bev says with delight. “What’s her name?”

“Can you guys just—” Mike says into Bev’s hair. 

They all laugh as they move back, and Mike suddenly has room to breathe. Mike looks at his phone and smiles. He’d almost forgotten they took these pictures. 

“Her name’s, uh, Jessie,” Mike says. “I met her in New Orleans.”

“ _Mike_ , you didn’t tell us you’d met someone,” Eddie says, somehow sounding both scandalized and touched. 

Mike looks up at Eddie, blinking and stammering, and his eyes dart over to Bill. Bill’s eyes have changed. They’re dimmer now.

“She’s not—I mean,” Mike stutters. “She’s a . . .”

 _Friend_ is not the word to cover what Mike and Jessie did in Mike’s hotel room. Mike’s face starts to burn. 

“Things with us weren’t _serious_ ,” Mike finally says. “We were just . . . you know.”

He’s still looking at Bill. Bill’s jaw twitches and he nods. Mike can’t figure out what it means. 

Richie raises both eyebrows and grins wolfishly. 

“Mike Hanlon, are you having a _ho phase_?” 

Stan and Ben sputter out laughs, and Eddie thwacks Richie in the abs. 

“Oh, come _on_ , Richie,” Bev says. “Mike mentions one girl and you’re accusing him of a _ho phase?”_

They all look over to Mike again, and Mike imagines they’re expecting some type of protest. 

Except, well, when Mike thinks about it . . .

“ _Well_ . . .” 

Everyone stops and stares at Mike. They all look surprised except for Richie, who looks genuinely impressed. 

And Bill, who looks at the floor when he sees Mike looking at him. 

“Let me get this straight,” Richie says. “You—Mike Hanlon, the most upright, responsible, husband-material man ever—have basically been on a sex tour of this country since leaving that hellhole?” 

“ _No,_ Richie, _God_ ,” Mike says, feeling flustered. “I’ve just . . . been to some cities and met some people . . .”

“ . . . and had sex with them?” Richie says, grinning even more mischievously. 

“Hey!” Ben says. “Mike can have as much fun as he wants after spending all those years in _that place_.”

“Yeah!” Bev says, touching Mike’s knee. “We fully support your adventures, Mike!” 

Mike looks around at his friends. They’re all giving him bleary smiles. Richie even nods in approval. 

Mike risks a glance at Bill again. Bill’s finally looking up at him again. He gives Mike the smallest of smiles.

Mike can hear his heart pounding in his chest, and he feels like his head is spinning. But he manages to smile anyway.

“Um . . . thanks,” he says, and the loud, canterkous conversations pick up from there. 

…...

It’s late, way past midnight. Mike should be back at his hotel. 

But he’s not. Instead, he’s stretched out on a chair on Richie and Eddie’s ridiculous patio, staring into their ridiculous pool. Mike’s not even entirely sure when he wandered out here. 

Everyone else is in a similar state. They’re all too drunk to drive, but none of them bothered to get a ride back. Everyone’s laid out in various rooms of Richie and Eddie’s house, lounging around like they’re kids in the clubhouse again. 

It’s nice, really. 

Mike stares at the pool lights, transfixed by the glow peeking through the water. He thinks of Bill, because of course he does. He imagines Bill laying across a bed in one of Richie and Eddie’s seven bedrooms. Mike hopes tonight worked; he hopes Bill feels better than he did before Rich and Bev dragged him over. 

He thinks of Bill’s eyes, lighting, dimming, looking at the floor. Looking at Mike. 

_I think I should tell him._

The thought catches Mike off guard. Because what the fuck kind of idea is _that_ ? What would that even sound like? _Hey, I know you’ve just started the process of getting a divorce and heard about me sleeping around across the country earlier tonight, but you should know I have feelings for you._

Mike scoffs at himself. That sounds inane to his own ears. He can’t imagine how badly Bill would react. 

Mike hears the patio door and turns to see a still-drunk Stan stumbling outside. Stan smiles at him and plops down the chair right next to him. 

“How you doing, Stan?” Mike asks with a laugh.

Stan sighs, sounding content. 

“ _Good_ ,” he says. “You?”

“The same,” Mike mumbles. 

Stan hums and closes his eyes. 

Mike watches Stan. He thinks of that night outside of the Jade Orient, when Patty told them what Stan had done. They almost lost Stan. _It_ almost took Stan, even from thousands of miles away. And that was because Mike had called him.

“Stan?” Mike says.

Stan opens his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I never . . .” Mike shifts in his seat. “I mean, I never got a chance to tell you I’m—”

“ _Don’t_.” Stan raises an eyebrow at Mike. 

“Don’t what?” 

“You’re about to apologize for something that is obviously _not_ your fault,” Stan says. “And I’m telling you don’t do it.” 

“But, Stan,” Mike pushes, because the guilt is still rising in his chest. “I kinda feel like it _was._ I mean . . . you wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t—”

“You know, you sound like Bill sometimes,” Stan says. “You both act like you’re _responsible_ for us. And yeah, you guys have been kinda in charge, but you’re not _responsible_ for us, you know? I made a decision, and then I survived that decision. And that’s not your fault at all, okay?”

Mike bites his tongue. He feels no less guilty, but he nods anyway.

“Okay.”

Stan nods and closes his eyes again. Mike returns his gaze to the water. 

They’re quiet for a while. It’s comfortable, aided by the warm breeze of the dead of night. 

“You know what’s kinda weird?” Stan says after some time.

Mike looks over at him. “What?”

“Even though I wasn’t with you guys, I could still _feel it_ ,” Stan says. “It was like I felt it when you guys killed It. Like I _was_ with you, even though I was far, far away.” Stan opens his eyes and looks at Mike. “It was so odd. Why do you think that was?”

Mike looks down at his right hand, turning his palm upward. The scar’s been gone for all this time. But still. 

“I think it’s because we’re connected. Bound in it,” Mike says. “We’re pieces of a whole. We always have been.”

Stan nods, then he smirks. 

“Fucking Losers,” he says. “Always will be.”

“Always will be,” Mike echoes. 

Another long, quiet moment passes them. Then Stan looks to Mike with a gleam in his eyes.

“Can I ask you something?”

Mike shrugs. “Of course, anything.”

“Well . . .” Stan says. “Speaking of you and Bill . . . what’s up with you guys?”

Mike’s heart skips a beat.

“Nothing,” Mike says. “Nothing at all.”

That’s not a lie. There _is_ absolutely nothing up with Mike _and_ Bill: there’s just something up with Mike. But Mike apparently says it too quickly for it to sound like the truth, because Stan narrows his eyes at him. 

“You guys are bad liars,” Stan says. “And also, I can _see._ You two were eyeing each other all night, _and_ you both got weird whenever we saw your girlfriend from New Orleans.” 

“Jessie’s not—” Mike stops, because that’s not the point, and Stan is still smirking at him. “I—Bill and I weren’t _eyeing_ each other, Stan.”

“ _J_ _eez,_ ” Stan says. “Don’t tell me you both are still in denial.” 

“I’m not—wait. _Still_?” 

“Yes, _still,_ Mike. I _know_ you remember what you and Bill were like when we were kids.”

Mike stares at Stan’s incredulous face. Mike remembers _himself_ ; he remembers hanging on Bill’s every word and being willing to follow Bill everywhere, and yes, Mike should’ve realized how he feels about Bill _way_ sooner than he did. Looking back, it was very, painfully obvious that Mike had feelings for Bill. He’s just now realizing he’s held a torch for one of his best friends for nearly 30 years. Mike will be embarrassed about it for the rest of his life. 

But Bill? Bill never saw Mike like that. Bill liked Bev for forever, and then he didn’t like anyone, and then he moved away from Derry. When Bill returned, he was married to a gorgeous actress named Audra. 

Mike had always been Bill’s friend, and that was all. Nothing more.

“Bill didn’t have feelings for me back then,” Mike says. “And he definitely doesn’t have feelings for me now.”

“I can’t tell if you actually believe that or if you’re both just punishing yourselves for some reason,” Stan says. “Either way, it’s not true.” 

Mike feels himself floundering. There’s a part of him, small, but growing, that really wants Stan to be right. 

“Bill’s getting a divorce,” Mike says.

Stan nods. “He is.”

“Because of what happened in Derry. Because I called him back.” Because this will never stop feeling like Mike’s fault. 

Stan shrugs. “Kinda, yeah,” he concedes. “But it’s mostly because he realized he’s not in love with his wife. He’s in love with _someone else._ Kinda like how Bev and Eddie are.”

Mike sighs and looks at the pool again, fixing his gaze on the shimmering lights. Stan sounds so confident. But. 

“I don’t want to lose him again,” Mike says quietly. “I don’t want to lose _any_ of you again.”

“You won’t,” Stan says. “I know you won’t.”

Mike wants to believe Stan. He wants to feel as certain as Stan sounds. 

So, he ignores the arguments simmering in the back of his mind. And he just sits with his friend.

……

The house is dark and still when Mike and Stan carry themselves back inside. 

Mike and Stan stumble upstairs, snickering at their drunken clumsiness. Mike wonders if this is what his teens or 20s should’ve felt like: sneaking back into the house at night, still giggling and drunk. 

Stan hugs him before he goes into one of the guest rooms. And maybe that should be silly because they’re going to see each other in a few short hours, but Mike hugs back hard. Then he trips into the other guest bedroom, barely remembering to close the door behind him. He thinks about how his friends are rich enough to have multiple guest bedrooms, multiple beds in multiple guest bedrooms. 

Mike collapses onto the soft bed. He thinks of Bill, somewhere in the house. Then he drifts off to sleep.

……

Mike wakes up slowly. 

It’s the warmth on his cheek that tugs him awake, pulling him out of a hard sleep. He wakes up confused; it takes him a second to realize he’s _not_ in his hotel, that he never went back last night. Mike sits up and remembers he’s in a soft bed in one of his friends’ guest rooms, because they’re super rich and have a bunch of bedrooms.

There’s a dull ache spreading across Mike’s head, and his tongue feels like he licked sandpaper. Ah, yes, he _did_ drink a lot last night. Well, Mike’s had much worse hangovers. 

Mike walks out of the room, careful to be quiet. It feels early, and he hasn’t heard any noise from anywhere else in the house. Mike goes downstairs to the kitchen in search of water or a drink and maybe a Tylenol or two.

He almost jumps out of his skin when he sees Bill. 

Bill goes wide-eyed for a moment before his face twitches into a small smile. He turns around and reemerges with a bottle of Tylenol and a can of soda.

“For the hangover,” Bill says, his voice still raspy.

“Oh,” Mike says. Awkwardly. “Um, thanks.” 

Bill nods. Also awkward. Mike busies himself with taking two pills and downing the soda. It burns his throat in a strangely pleasant way.

“What time is it?” Mike eventually asks.

“7:30,” Bill says. “Or something around that time.” 

Mike groans. “I thought I would’ve slept a little longer.”

Bill chuckles, a low, croaky sound. “You’ve always been an early riser, if I remember correctly. Although, I figured you’d still be asleep because you and _S-Stan_ were up so late.”

Mike quirks an eyebrow at the way “Stan” comes out of Bill’s mouth.

“Yeah, we were.”

Bill’s nostrils flare and the corner of his mouth turns upwards.

“Wow. Didn’t know you guys were like that.” 

Mike snorts. Bill’s joking and teasing Mike, sure, but the irony of it is killing him.

“I don’t think Stan’s really my type, you know,” Mike says. 

“Oh, okay,” Bill says, still smiling. “But . . . you’ve been g-good, right?” he adds. Bill’s eyes roam Mike’s face, as if he’s searching for any signs Mike might be lying to him.

Mike nods, hopes Bill’s gaze isn’t making his face go red. 

“I’m good.” 

Mike clears his throat. He can feel nervousness creeping up on him again. 

“What about you?” Mike asks. “How are you doing? Honestly, I mean.”

Bill sighs, and his smile fades. Mike immediately regrets asking; he’d do anything to watch Bill smile. 

_God, I’m so screwed._

“It’s been . . . strange. Especially with it being p-public and all that,” Bill admits. “I feel a little outta sorts, you know? I hardly know what to do with myself. Divorce does that to you, I suppose. But, I feel better, now, having seen you guys.” 

“I’m glad,” Mike says. “I’m really glad.” 

Bill ducks his head, clears his throat, tries to smile. He’s nervous, Mike realizes. Actually, Mike thinks Bill looks a little terrified. 

“Mike,” Bill says. “I . . . I know I was a little all-over-the-place the last time we talked. But, I want you to know that I meant what I said.” Bill looks Mike in the eyes. “All of it.” 

Mike looks at Bill’s worn, handsome face. He looks at the lines around Bill’s eyes, his graying temples, the way his lips are slightly parted. 

He wants to kiss Bill. Mike barely stops himself from doing something so foolish. 

“I know,” Mike says quietly. “But I meant what I said to you, too.”

Bill stares, laughs a little. Mike still wants to kiss him. 

“Where—where are you going? After you leave here, I mean?” Bill asks.

Mike shrugs. “I don’t know. I mean, I know I have to go back to St. Louis and do something about the car, but after that, I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Stay here. In LA, for a few days,” Bill says. “Stay with me, let me show you around.” 

That sounds like a bad idea, really. Like a disaster waiting to happen, or maybe like Mike setting himself up for a spectacular failure. He needs to go back to St. Louis. Mike’s common sense should kick in.

But, it doesn’t.

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” 

Bill smiles; a genuine smile where he’s showing his teeth. Mike thinks he’s probably made the worst decision of his life. 

A loud yawn cuts through Mike’s rising panic. He and Bill turn to see Richie ambling down the stairs, dragging himself towards the kitchen.

“Hi, Mom, hi, Dad,” he says in a garbled tone. 

Mike and Bill look at each other, then back at their bedraggled friend.

“Good morning to you, too, Richie,” Mike says.

Richie gives them a bleary smile as he shuffles past them to the refrigerator. He takes out a giant carton of orange juice and walks out of the kitchen.

“Don’t mind me,” Richie says, holding up his free hand. “You two continue _talking_.” 

Richie cackles lowly as he walks back upstairs. Mike and Bill watch him go, and Bill shakes his head slowly.

“We’re best friends with that guy,” Bill says.

Mike sighs and barely stops himself from laughing.

“Yeah, we are.”

……

It feels a little odd when he checks out of his hotel room this time.

Mike’s gotten used to checking out, throwing his bags into his car and just driving. Driving south, driving west, driving wherever. Driving for hours, alone, stopping when his body tells him to. 

How different today is for Mike, to be walking to Bill’s car outside. To be sitting in the passenger seat, letting Bill take him home. 

Mike is absolutely petrified. He still thinks he’s out of his mind for doing this. 

But then Bill grins at him, an open, boyish grin. Mike lets himself be taken into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having a ho phase is perfectly valid, btw!! In this household, we love and support hos!!


	4. Chapter 4

Bill’s house, while being half the size of Richie and Eddie’s, is still ridiculous. 

Mike’s eyes first fall on the light-colored brick criss-crossed with the dark wood. Then they fall on the length of the house, how it seems to stretch for miles. Then, on the cactus garden, complete with more species of cacti than Mike knew was possible. 

“That was Audra’s idea,” Bill says, nodding towards the garden. “Figured I’d leave it.”

“Audra has . . . ?” 

Mike can’t bring himself to finish the question, but Bill can already tell what he’s asking.

“Yeah,” Bill says. “Couple of months ago, actually. Living in S-San Diego. Kinda funny because this house was her idea, but you know.” Bill waves towards the house. “Come on, let’s get you set up.” 

Mike tries not to gawk when they walk inside. He takes in the exposed beams of the ceiling, the artwork displayed all over the walls, the archway made of exposed sand-colored brick, the ornate wooden tables and chairs. The kitchen has dark marble floors and countertops, all spotless and gleaming. 

The house is warm; the sunlight pouring in through the windows and patio door make sure of that. But as Mike follows Bill, he finds something feels _off._ It feels impersonal, somehow—too gleaming, too neat, too new. 

It doesn’t feel like Bill. 

Bill opens the door to one of his guest bedrooms, because he’s also rich enough to have multiple guest bedrooms. It’s just like the rest of the house; incredibly tidy and impeccably decorated, with a big bed in the middle of the room.

“Make yourself at home,” Bill says. “You want anything from the kitchen?”

Mike carefully puts his bags down on the floor and sits on the bed. The mattress is soft, and Mike feels himself sink into it. 

“I’m good,” he says. “This place is . . .”

“Yeah, I know,” Bill says, his cheeks tinting red. “But I guess enough people like the shitty horror for me to afford it.” 

Mike rolls his eyes. “Your stuff isn’t _shitty_ , Bill. I thought we established that.”

“I think you’ve just got bad taste, Mikey.”

“You know you probably shouldn’t insult your fans, right?” Mike says teasingly. 

Bill nods with another chuckle. “I should probably work on that.”

Mike watches as Bill shifts his weight from one foot to the other and scratches at his jaw. He’s still nervous. 

“But, um,” Bill says, “I have a little work to do right now. But just give me an hour or so, and we can go. That okay?”

Mike’s heart is dancing around in his chest, moving and twisting and beating too hard. 

“That’s perfect.” 

……

When that hour passes, Mike finds that all he wants to do is eat. 

Bill takes him to a cozy Thai restaurant Mike definitely wouldn’t have found on his own. He tells Mike to order whatever he wants and rolls his eyes when Mike reminds him that he can pay for his own food.

“I do have some money, you know,” Mike says. 

“Just because you _can_ pay for it doesn’t mean I’m going to let you,” Bill says, 

He uses a tone that reminds Mike too much of being 14, and that effectively ends the argument. 

All the waiters smile and wave at Bill. The one who brings them their order stops to chat for a bit. Mike watches Bill make friendly small talk, and he’s suddenly back in New Orleans, watching Jessie kiki with everyone at Willie Mae’s. 

That yearning to be a “regular” flares up, but it’s even stronger, now. Mike can finally name it for what it is: the strong desire to settle down. Move somewhere nice, get a job. Make a home for himself. 

Months of ripping and running across the country, chasing that feeling in his gut, have led him here—to the snug feeling of wanting to settle down. 

“M-Mike?”

Mike reemerges from his thoughts to find Bill watching him cautiously. 

“Sorry,” Mike says. “Just kinda got lost in my own head for a second.”

“Oh. About what?” 

Mike shrugs. “Just something that happened while I was on the road. When I was in New Orleans.”

Bill looks down at his food and makes a small motion with one of his chopsticks.

“What, with your g-girlfriend?” Bill asks. 

Mike sighs. “You guys are never gonna let that go, are you?”

Bill looks up with a tight smile. “No, probably not.”

“Well,” Mike says, “I’ll remind you that Jessie was _not_ my girlfriend. She was someone I met who I really liked and enjoyed my time with.”

“And you met other people like that? In other cities?”

Mike laughs, a sound brought forth by nerves and discomfort.

“I’m starting to feel a little judged here, Bill.” 

“N-no! I don’t mean it like that!” Bill says. “I guess, what I mean is . . . I’m just wondering what stopped you from being with her. Or, with anyone else.”

 _You._ The answer is loud in Mike’s mind, ringing in his ears. _It was always you, even when I didn’t know it._

“I think a part of me just knew it wasn’t meant to be,” Mike says instead. “Part of me always knew I wasn’t supposed to stay in those places. With those people. I’m supposed to be . . . somewhere else.”

Bill blinks. “Do you know where? Where you’re s-supposed to be?”

_With you. Wherever that is._

“I think so,” Mike says, almost too quietly. Then, because that feels like far too much: “I mean, I’m not entirely sure yet. But I have a feeling . . .”

“Go with the feeling!” Bill urges, his voice animated. “You know. Go with your gut.” 

Bill’s said that to Mike once before, right when Mike was leaving Florida with absolutely no idea why. 

It’s different now. Mike’s gut is leading him somewhere much more dangerous. Somewhere much more perilous than a few-hours drive across state lines. There’s far too much at stake.

But Mike can’t explain that to Bill. Not now, at least. So, he just nods.

“Okay,” Mike says. “Okay.” 

……

Bill has a weird story for almost every corner they pass on the way back to his house.

Mike listens in disbelief and confusion and amusement as Bill fills their drive with tales of weird fans, sleazy producers, stuck-up store owners and creepy restaurants. There’s a grumpy quality to Bill’s voice; the city really gets under his skin sometimes.

“D-Derry has nothing on this place, sometimes,” Bill grumbles.

Mike snorts so loud it makes Bill laugh, his body shaking as he glances over to Mike. 

“That’s a really scary thought, man,” Mike says, and Bill laughs even more. 

Bill’s still chuckling to himself when they pull into his driveway. Mike thinks making Bill laugh so much is one of his favorite accomplishments.

……

Bill texts the Losers’ group chat to check in, and Mike finds it funny that he’s getting texts from Bill while standing a few feet away from him. 

Stan, Bev and Ben report back quickly, chattering about flights, while Richie sends a few profanity-laced texts about having dress rehearsals for his latest specials all week and Eddie being neck-deep in financial portfolios for his “whiny ass clients.” 

At one point, Ben remembers that Mike should’ve been on a flight, too, and asks what time he flew back to St. Louis. 

Mike glances up at Bill. He’s making this weird; it should be super easy for him to tell them he decided to hang out in LA for a few days. This isn’t anything to hide or be awkward about it. 

It shouldn’t be, at least. 

“I’ll tell ‘em,” Bill says with a shrug, and Mike’s never been so relieved and anxious. 

**Bill: Mike’s at my house. He’s staying for a couple of days.**

It takes a second, but true to form, the Losers all start responding at once. 

**Eddie: What??? You guys have to come by for dinner!!!**

**Bev: Oh cool!! Have fun Mike!!**

**Ben: Bill make sure you take him to the Bradbury building!**

**Richie: Mike does that mean you’re gonna babysit Bill for us? Because he needs to be reminded to eat and stuff. He’s a handful.**

Mike laughs as Bill gawks at Richie’s text. Bill hastily texts back a “Fuck you, Trashmouth!!” and Richie responds with a string of emojis, and the memes flow in from there. While Mike is watching the pandemonium unfold, he notices Stan hasn’t responded to the group. Then he sees Stan’s text, sent to Mike only. 

**Stan: So you WERE listening to me. Good for you lol.**

Mike bites the inside of his cheek. That asshole.

**Mike: Shut up Uris.**

Stan wastes no time responding, and the next thing Mike knows, he’s looking at a flood of kissy face emojis. 

**Stan: I’m just glad you guys are getting your shit together.**

**Stan: I spent YEARS watching the 6 of you oggle each other. It was GROSS.**

**Stan: I finally have peace!**

Mike glares at his phone as if Stan will somehow see. 

**Mike: You’re the worst.**

Then, because he’s going soft and can’t help it, he texts Stan again.

**Mike: But thank you. For looking out for me.**

Stan’s response comes a second later, and it fills Mike with warmth.

**Stan: Of course. I’ve always got your back.**

……

“I have to work some more,” Bill tells Mike later that night. “Got edits and revisions and stuff.”

They end up sitting on the couch, sharing an expensive bottle of Bourbon and watching _The Goonies_ instead. 

The mix of whiskey and the 90s adventure is a wave of nostalgia so strong it knocks Mike off of his feet. He wants to cry, but he can’t tell if he’s extremely emotional or drunk, or an unfortunate combination of the two. 

Bill gets loose; he laughs loudly and freely, his face splitting into wide smiles. His leg and arm presses up against Mike’s as he slumps into his couch’s cushions, and he seems entirely unbothered by the constant physical contact. Mike could crawl out of his skin at any second, but Bill doesn’t even seem to notice. 

When the movie ends, Bill’s head lolls towards Mike.

“Where you wanna go tom-morrow?” 

Mike shrugs. “Wherever you take me.”

Bill blinks at Mike with wide eyes. Too honest—that was too much honesty, wasn’t it? 

But Bill just nods and beams.

“Okay, Mikey.” 

……

They run a lot of errands the next day. Mail and packages to be sent off, household items and groceries to get.

“Stuff I should’ve done _before_ having someone over,” Bill says with an embarrassed smile. 

He keeps apologizing to Mike, and Mike keeps waving him off, telling him he’s down for the ride. Mike wonders how Bill hasn’t yet noticed that he’ll ride anywhere with Bill. 

Bill buys Mike a bougie coffee and pastry to “make it up” to him. Mike ends up jittery and hyper and much too aware of the scent of Bill’s shampoo and the easy way he touches Mike’s arm. It all makes Mike overwhelmed and dizzy.

When dinnertime comes and Mike _finally_ relaxes, they decide to make burgers. They move around each other in the kitchen, talking about how long the meat should cook and if Bill still stuffs potato chips onto his burger and trying to clean as soon as they’re done cooking so they won’t have to do it later. 

It all feels so domestic; it feels like Mike’s done it a million times before and will do it a million times more. They move around each other like they didn’t spend 27 years apart, like they’d spent every single day of their lives together. 

Mike thinks about the feeling as they sprawl out on the couch and eat dinner, as they sit and reminisce about all the absurd and gross ways Richie used to mix foods. He thinks about when he goes to bed, carrying himself into the guest room closest to Bill’s bedroom. 

It’s almost amazing how quickly Mike has gotten used to being in Bill’s life this way. 

…...

Mike wakes to the sound of typing. 

He can hear Bill ferociously click-clacking away just a few doors down. Driven by both curiosity and an embarrassing desire to watch Bill work, Mike gets out of bed as quietly as possible and creeps down the hall. 

There’s a room with its door ajar a few doors down from Mike. Mike pokes his head in and sure enough, there’s Bill, still in his pajamas, hunched over his laptop, his glasses precariously perched in his messy salt-n-pepper hair. Bill is staring at the laptop screen in what is either frustration or extreme concentration. It is the most endearing, loveliest thing Mike’s ever seen. 

Wow. Mike’s got it _bad._

Mike clears his throat, trying to temper the sound. Bill still startles, though, and his head whips around. 

“Sorry!” Mike says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Bill smiles and beckons for Mike to come in. He looks relaxed. 

“You’re good,” he says. “I just—my brain decided to start working at like five this morning, so here I am. I didn’t w-wake you, did I?” 

“I was waking up anyway,” Mike says. He leans against the desk and nods towards Bill’s laptop. “Is that the same thing you were working on a couple of months ago?”

Bill nods, and his glasses slide down his forehead. Mike barely contains a giggle as Bill takes his glasses off of his head.

“Yes, yes it is,” Bill says. “I think it’s turned into a short story. It’s kind of weird, because I thought it’d be harder to write after D-Derry. But it’s been easier.” 

“Nothing like confronting your destiny and fighting a demonic clown entity to get your creative juices flowing,” Mike mutters. 

Bill chortles and waves his glasses at Mike. 

“The hallucinogen definitely helped, too,” he quips.

Mike hangs his head. There are some things he will never be proud of. 

“I _still_ can’t believe I did that,” Mike says. “What the hell was I thinking?” 

Bill reaches over and takes hold on Mike’s wrist. His hand is warm, but Mike freezes.

“You did what you had to do, Mikey,” Bill says. “I’ll never hold it against you.” 

Mike stares. He’s standing in Bill’s house in his pajamas after months and months and years and years and—Bill’s hand is warm against his skin, sending sparks up his arm, into his chest. 

“I was thinking,” Mike says, “that maybe we could for a walk today? On one of the trails nearby?” 

Bill nods and gives Mike’s wrist a squeeze.

“I’d like that.”

……

About 15 minutes from Bill’s house is Franklin Canyon Park, with its hiking trails wrapped around a big lake. The sky is blue and spotless, so Mike and Bill decide to bring food and make a day of it. 

“I haven’t come up here in awhile,” Bill says. “Been too busy with the m-movie stuff.” 

They walk along an easy trail for a while, talking about whatever random topics pop into their minds. They bump into each other as they walk, hot arms and hands knocking together. Mike is still that kid in Derry, riding on the back of Silver, shaking as he holds onto Big Bill Denbrough’s waist. 

When they sit down for lunch, Bill gets into a slap fight with a bee, and Mike can’t let the moment pass without sneaking a pic and texting it to the group.

**Mike: Our fearless leader lol**

Bill’s jaw drops when he sees the text. It gets even lower when all the other Losers start making fun of him. 

“That is a rude invasion of privacy!” Bill yelps. 

Mike grins. “It’s also _funny_ , though. You gotta admit it’s funny.”

Bill glares at him, but Mike swears there’s more fondness than venom.

“I will not, Michael Hanlon. And you can’t make me.” 

Mike, feeling at ease and suddenly brave, chuckles. 

“We’ll see about that.”

Bill raises an eyebrow, then smirks. 

“Yeah, we will.”

……

Just as they’re walking back to the car, the clouds roll in and the sky opens up. 

“Shit!” Bill cries, and the rain starts to pour down on them, beating relentlessly against their heads, backs and shoulders. 

They sprint to the car, but they’re no match for the surprise rain shower. They’re both soaking wet by the time they slide inside. 

They sit still for a moment, surrounded by the boisterous rain and wind. Then they burst out laughing. They laugh and laugh and laugh so hard the car shakes.

Mike looks over and sees Bill’s face, joyful face, and he can feel himself sink.

_I’m so in love with him._

……

It’s still raining buckets when they pull into Bill’s driveway.

Mike sighs as Bill cuts the engine and leans back into the passenger seat.

“I don’t feel like getting out now,” Mike says. “Especially not with all that.” 

Bill nods and slouches in the driver’s seat. 

“Eh, sitting here won’t hurt,” Bill mutters. 

They sit in silence for a while, letting the sound of the rain lull them into stillness. Mike feels almost hypnotized as he watches the water cascade down the windshield. The car feels like a bubble now. Like it’s just Mike and Bill in this small, contained world. 

“I used to hate the rain. The s-storms,” Bill says softly. “Used to be scared, actually. After Georgie, I was scared of them for years.”

Mike turns to Bill. “Are you still scared?”

Bill looks Mike in the eyes and shakes his head. “No. Not anymore.”

Mike looks into Bill’s eyes and sees his determination, his strength. And then, something soft, but fiery, growing larger and larger.

Bill reaches over and puts a hand on Mike’s knee.

“Thank you,” Bill says, “for staying with me.”

A shiver runs down Mike’s spine, but he doesn’t look away. Not once.

“Thank you for asking me to stay.”

Bill blinks at Mike, his lips curving upwards. Then he leans over and kisses him. 

And Mike, for a moment or maybe many, many moments, feels he’s in suspended animation. He feelings everything all at once: his wet clothes clinging to his skin, his thigh pressing against the seat belt. Bill’s lips capturing his. 

Bill pulls back, looks at Mike with wide, terrified eyes. Mike didn’t kiss back.

“I’m s-s-sorry.” Bill’s face goes red. “I thought—I mean, I th-thought . . .”

Mike puts his hands on the sides of Bill’s face, holding him gently. He leans forward again.

“Don’t,” Mike says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t apologize.”

And he kisses Bill Denbrough, as deep and as hard as he can. 

……

It does, eventually, stop raining. And Mike and Bill have to detangle themselves from one another and get out of the car. 

They barely make it inside of the house before Bill is jumping on Mike again. 

“We should—probably shower,” Mike manages between kisses. “Rainwater—we’re gross.”

Bill grunts, holds Mike even tighter.

“We’ve been grosser,” he mumbles against Mike’s mouth. “But _fine._ ”

Mike laughs and slips out of Bill’s grasp and into the bathroom. And by the time he’s turned the shower on, Mike is reaching back through the door. 

He’s come this far, and he doesn’t want to stop now.

“Bill. _Come here._ ”

Bill follows him in with a wild laugh, and they snatch and pull at each other’s clothes until they’re naked and gracelessly stumbling into the shower’s spray. 

Bill’s shower is huge and opulent like the rest of this ridiculous house ( _rich as hell, my friends are_ ), but they press together anyway, bodies slick with hot water and steam. Bill takes Mike in his hand and strokes him slowly, humming as Mike lets out a soft moan.

“I wanna see your face when you come,” Bill says, his voice low and heated. 

Mike has half a mind to tease Bill, to point out how unbelievably corny that sounds. But Bill’s hand is rough, and the water is hot, and Mike hadn’t even allowed him to imagine Bill’s touch before this. It’s a lot, it’s _a lot,_ and Mike comes with a broken moan that Bill relishes. 

“Good with my h-hands, right?” Bill asks, entirely too cheeky.

Mike groans, makes a big show of it. 

“You are the _worst_.” 

Mike kisses Bill hard. Then he reaches down to return the favor.

……

“Hey, Mike? Can I ask you something?”

Mike peers down at Bill, who is still splayed across Mike like a human blanket. Bill moves his head to rest his chin on Mike’s chest, and that minute movement is enough to remind Mike that _yes,_ this is real. 

“You can ask me anything.”

Bill glances down at Mike’s chest and starts mindlessly tracing a pattern with his finger. 

“Am I a f-fling?” 

Mike lifts his head. It’s uncomfortable, but he needs to see Bill’s face. 

“Huh?”

“I understand if I am. A fling,” Bill continues. “I’m just wondering.” 

Mike sits up fully now. Bill rolls off him onto his side, and Mike immediately misses the feeling of his skin against Bill’s. 

“ _No_ ,” Mike says empathetically. “No, you are not a _fling._ Why would you think you were?” 

Bill shrugs, but he won’t meet Mike’s eyes. 

“I figured you’d want to get on with your life,” Bill answers. “Keep moving, you know. You’ve had 27 y- _years_ to figure out shit I’m just now remembering and realizing. And . . . I mean, Richie wasn’t lying when he said I’m a _handful_.” Bill laughs, a scared sound. “I didn’t think you’d want to deal with all that.” 

“Bill.” Mike leans down and cups Bill’s jaw. “Bill, look at me.”

Bill looks up warily. Mike strokes Bill’s cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of Bill’s mouth. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to express how important you are to me,” Mike says. “I’m always going to be here for you, no matter how much of a _handful_ you are.” 

Bill huffs out a laugh, but nods. He rolls over and lays his head on Mike’s stomach. Mike loves the warmth; he loves feeling weighed down, his skin burning from touch. He cards his fingers through Bill’s hair, marveling at the soft strands. 

“If anything,” Mike says, “I’m surprised _you_ want to be with _me._ I never expected you to . . .”

Mike’s voice trails off as he stares down at Bill, watching his back rise and fall. There’s a part of Mike that _still_ doesn’t believe this: he still feels like Bill is going to sit up at any second and tell him, _Yeah, no, nevermind. You’re too much, you’re not enough. I don’t want any of this._

But Bill looks up at him with the kindest smile.

“You can’t possibly think that, Mikey,” Bill says. 

Mike shrugs. He has a million thoughts running through his head, all colliding into one another. _I love you_ bumping into _I’m scared_ crashing into _I want to stay here forever._

“Do you remember the day before I m-moved away?” Bill asks. “When we spent almost the whole day t-together?” 

Mike nods. Him and Bill, sitting close together in Mike’s room, Mike biting his cheek to stop himself from crying. 

“You rode to the farm on Silver,” Mike says. “You wanted to say goodbye.” 

“I was so . . . _hurt_ ,” Bill says. “I hated D-Derry, but I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to leave _you._ I didn’t know what I was going to do _without_ you.”

Mike feels a pang as the memories flash before his eyes. 

“I didn’t know what I’d do without you, either.”

“And I . . .” Bill swallows, takes a deep breath. “I remember looking at you and thinking _I love you._ ”

Mike forgets how to breathe for a second. Bill loved him? All the way back then, when it never even seemed like a possibility? Mike thinks of Stan sitting next to him on Richie and Eddie’s patio, more sure than Mike could allow himself to be. 

_I really owe him one._

“I was looking at you and thinking _I love you_ over and over again, but I never _said_ it,” Bill continues. “Because I was scared, and I was going away, and I didn’t want the last time I saw you to be you telling me you didn’t feel—”

“Bill.” The word barely gets out, Mike’s so breathless. “I love you. _I love you._ And I always have.”

Bill blinks, dazed. 

“I wish I’d said it then. Wish we could’ve had more time back then,” Bill says. “M-missed opportunity.”

“But we have right now,” Mike says. He feels more confident than he ever has in his life. “And right now is perfect.” 

That boyish grin spreads across Bill’s face.

“Yeah. It is.” 

……

“You know something?” Bill asks as they move around the kitchen making breakfast.

Mike glances over from the pot of coffee he’s making. “Yeah?”

“The house, it f-feels different with you here,” Bill says. 

Mike scoffs. “Messier, sure.” Because they’ve definitely got stuff strewn across the bedroom, kitchen and living room. 

“Not just messier,” Bill says with a laugh. “ _Different._ B-better, really. Less sterile and empty . . .”

“Bill,” Mike says. “Is this your roundabout way of asking me to stay longer?”

Bill blinks and laughs shakily, clearly flustered.

“Um, well, yeah,” Bill says. “But, I totally get if you—”

Mike walks over and kisses Bill, holding him tightly.

“I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me.”

“That might be forever, you know.” 

Bill says it like it’s supposed to be a warning, but it just makes Mike’s heart pound with excitement.

“Fine by me.” 

……

Eddie and Richie cajole Mike and Bill into dinner that night. 

Because, “there’s no point in being here if you’re just gonna let Bill lock you away in his secret writer cave,” Richie says. 

The meal mostly turns into Bill and Richie finding creative ways to cuss at each other while Eddie fusses about them wasting good wine. They end up on that extravagant patio again, and Mike stares into the pool, feeling perfectly content. 

As the sun sets and day turns to evening, Richie suddenly leans over in his chair and gives Mike and Bill a hard look.

“You okay, Richie?” Mike asks with a laugh. 

Richie takes a second, then breaks into a sly grin.

“You two are _boning_ now, aren’t you?” 

Eddie looks over, looking surprised and nosy as all hell. Bill laughs and stammers and glances over to Mike. Mike just rolls his eyes and sighs. Whatever “cover” they had is officially blown. 

“What gave it away?” Mike asks, trying his hardest to fight back a smile.

“Mostly that _look_ Bill keeps giving you,” Richie says sardonically. “Like, jeez, Bill, put your tongue in your mouth and stop _drooling._ ”

“How do you think _we_ feel around _you two_?” Bill demands, cutting his eyes at Richie and Eddie. 

“I resent that!” Eddie says. “We are perfectly fine to be around!”

“When you’re not trying to sneak into each other’s pants,” Mike mutters, just for the hell of it. 

If any of them realizes Mike’s said it just so he can sit back while the three of them launch into their new round of cussing at each other, none of them call him out on it. 

…....

“Are we going to tell everyone else, too?” Bill asks Mike as they lie in bed that night.

Mike looks over and shrugs. “If you want to. I say yes.”

Bill nods, resolute. “Yes. Let’s do it.”

Mike hums happily and kisses Bill, soft and sweet.

“Can we do it in a way that catches them off guard?” Mike asks against Bill’s mouth.

Bill laughs, making the whole bed shake.

“Absolutely.” 

……

Mike flies back to St. Louis just to sell the car. 

He’s in St. Louis less than a day. He already knew where he was taking it and how much he would get. He and Bill had found the place early yesterday morning after laying in bed and doing a lot of Googling. 

There’s a faint sense of sadness as Mike hands the keys over to the salesman. This car has been so deeply interwoven in Mike’s life, reaching all the way back to before his childhood. It’s a little hard to realize it’s time to let it go.

But it _is_ time. Mike’s got a lot of brand new years ahead of him. He’s ready to get started on them. 

……

Mike takes a picture of himself in the airport and sends it to the group.

**Mike: Looks like I’ll be in LA for a while. Right, Bill? :)**

The responses pour in: question marks, exclamation marks, eye emojis, a string of smiley faces from Stan that make Mike snort. 

And then there’s Bill’s, bold and open, making Mike’s heart feel so full. 

**Bill: Hurry back! I love you.**

Mike smiles so hard his face hurts.

**Mike: I love you, too.**

Mike slides his phone into his pocket and boards his flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I think "sappy middle-aged men realizing they're in love" is my new favorite genre of fic lol.


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